wealth, and would be lost, because the passions inspired by
mandrakes are unhappy."

I asked how it was possible to avoid the invisible danger. M.
d'Asterac replied that one could escape it by means of intuitive
divination, and in no other way.

"Besides," he added, "this pathway is fatal."

It went on in a direct line to a brick pavilion, hidden under ivy,
which no doubt had served in time gone by as a guard house. There
the park came to an end close to the monotonous marshes of the
Seine.

"You see this pavilion," said M. d'Asterac; "in it lives the most
learned of men. Therein Mosaide, one hundred and twenty years old,
penetrates, with majestic self-will, the mysteries of nature. He has
left Imbonatus and Bartoloni far behind. I wanted to honour myself,
gentlemen, by keeping under my roof the greatest cabalist since
Enoch, son of Cain. Religious scruples have prevented Mosaide taking
his place at my table, which he supposes to be a Christian's, by
which he does me too much honour. You cannot conceive the violence
of hate, of this sage, of everything Christian. I had the greatest
difficulty to make him dwell in the pavilion, where he lives alone
with his niece, Jahel. Gentlemen, you shall not wait longer before
becoming acquainted with Mosaide and I will at once present both of
you to this divine man."

And having thus spoken, M. d'Asterac pushed us inside the pavilion,
where between MSS. strewn all round was seated in a large arm-chair